My son is sick… Again.
I feel so bad. It’s like 2013 is the Year of Illness in the Arch House. A lot of my friends’ families are going through the same thing. It’s exhausting.
The thing that strikes me the most is this:
My son trusts me to take care of him.

This morning at 4:00AM, G was emptying the contents of his stomach into a pot and looking at me for support. “You’re doing great”, I said as I held the pot steady. “You’re going to be okay.”
At that moment I thought, “What the HELL is going on here???? I’m not equipped to handle a sick child! Aren’t I like, 16 years old???”
These moments, even five-and-a-half years in, are always surreal to me. And I imagine my parents used to think the same thing when I was looking at them, trusting that they knew all the right things to do to make me okay. They didn’t, but they sure acted like they did.

Today his fever spiked to 102.6 and he looked at me with those big blue eyes and asked, “Is it over 101??” I finally learned my lesson and said, “No, honey. It’s just 100.” He wants me to take his temperature about every 15 minutes. He gets a little obsessive when he’s not feeling great. And, according to him, as long as he stays under 100 degrees, he’s not “throw-up sick”. Yesterday I kept telling him the truth. Today I’m lying. It’s going better.

Right now he’s on the couch with Russ, watching Spy Kids… Again. He just asked for some cold milk and applesauce and, since he hasn’t TU’d (He doesn’t want me to say the full words) for over 14 hours, I let him have some. He seems to be doing okay right now.

All I know is, he trusts me to take care of him. Thank God for the internet, otherwise I’d know NOTHING about how to take care of him when he’s sick, other than using my instincts (which are NOT always right). Earlier, when he was resting in bed, I looked right at him and laughed because I couldn’t believe how cute he was and how much I love him. I’m exhausted. I’m afraid of screwing up. And I swear to you, I love taking care of this kid. I am blown away by his trust. And I trust him implicitly to tell me if I’m doing something wrong.

It’s an arrangement I am more than happy to live with, as long as he’s okay with me pretending I know what I’m doing.

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